


De-escalation

by arcanemoody



Series: How to Lie [6]
Category: Gotham (TV)
Genre: Batgirl and Robin are not good at avoiding fights, Canon Disabled Character, Domestic Fluff, Duela Dent is not good with boundaries, Fluff, Gay Parents, Godfather - Freeform, M/M, Married Couple, Nygmobblepot Secret Friend Exchange, Teenagers, Toddlers, Trans Male Character
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-25
Updated: 2020-12-25
Packaged: 2021-03-10 20:26:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,711
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28323078
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/arcanemoody/pseuds/arcanemoody
Summary: Barbara Lee gets into a fight. Oswald gets a call.
Relationships: Oswald Cobblepot/Edward Nygma
Series: How to Lie [6]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1405984
Comments: 2
Kudos: 30





	De-escalation

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Nygmobblepotty](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nygmobblepotty/gifts).



> For the Nygmobblepot Haven discord’s “Secret Friend” exchange. 
> 
> Prompt: “I would like to see a married au, maybe with kids, marriage troubles everyday married couple with kids go through.”
> 
> I hope you enjoy it! And thank you for giving me the opportunity to write fluff this year!

“Did you want me to radio your husband before we go in, Mr. Cobblepot?”

“Already done, Lark,” Oswald says, unbuckling the car seat next to him. “But thank you. Keep the motor running. This shouldn’t be more than a minute.”

“Yes, sir.”

Enigma has managed to sleep most of the car ride over. Now that the soothing vibrations of the engine have ceased, she wriggles awake with a wide yawn; tiny hands rubbing at wide blue-green eyes. Oswald smiles as she turns her familiar gaze on him, a gum-filled mouth pulling into a smile.

“Hello, sweetheart,” he says, carefully lifting her out of the car seat. “Did you have a nice nap?”

Oswald relishes these moments, walking alone with a baby on the hip. Other people know how every step pains him, even with a leg brace, and that he doesn't care. It's a powerful position to be in. Striding through the front door of Thomas Wayne High School this way is nearly as satisfying as striding through the bullpen at the GCPD with a pregnant belly. 

Fortunately, for his bravado, the principal’s office is close to the front door. The room abruptly goes silent when he walks in.

The room smells like carnage, making his sensitive nose wrinkle: blood, antiseptic, the salt and grit of a recent brawl. Barbara Lee, face frozen mid-argument with a looming authority figure, has a gash across her forehead, oozing blood through the gauze she has pressed to scalp with less than clean fingers. Dick Grayson, her young cohort looks less worse for wear, though Oswald notices an ice pack on the young gymnast’s wrist and a small brace on the other. The baby in his arms quickly starts to squirm. 

_ "Beh-buh-buh." _

Barbara Lee's eyes light up. She and his daughter are fast friends and have been since that first night home from the hospital. The youngest Gordon was the only person Olga had allowed in the manor and, even then, she had washed her hands three times before she allowed anyone that wasn’t him or Edward to touch the baby.

"Yes, Enigma, that's your cousin, Babsy. If the nice principal gets some medical tape for her cut, I'll let her hold you."

Ms. Cornell delivers the tape, and so Oswald delivers his ten-month-old, heart twisting as his daughter and goddaughter smile at each other, peals of joyous laughter. Such a pure exchange, untouched by trauma or hardship.

"Thank you for calling me, Ms. Cornell. We'll be going now."

"Mr. Cobblepot--"

"I am Miss Gordon's emergency contact. She informed me of what occurred on the phone but I do not have the parental authority for mediation or further discussion of the incident. Presumably, she is aware of any penalties assessed in this little… spat?"

He looks over.

"I'm suspended for the rest of the week,” she replies. “And I have an in-school suspension I have to do on Monday."

"Good. We'll be sure to relay that news to her mother, the police commissioner, and the doctor. Come along, now. Do give my best to your guardian, Mr. Grayson."

The younger man nods, mouth twisted in an unreadable expression. Oddly mirroring the expressions he remembers seeing on Young Bruce’s face half a lifetime ago.

"Are you hungry?" he asks.

"Starving." Babs nods. "We going to the Lounge?"

"Are you over 21?"

"No."

"Then _no_ , we're not going to the Lounge. Don't worry about it."

\--

He has Lark drive them to Sun Dollar, opting to dine inside the coffee shop rather than attempting to maneuver a chauffeured car through the tiny drive-thru. Barbara Lee picks out a table by the window while Oswald places their order and negotiates a high chair for Enigma. The barista hurries quickly, entertained by the baby’s giggles and responding with tedious sounds of her own. Oswald’s still not used to how having a baby seems to disarm the general public, though it seems to do so far more easily than his violent reputation ever did. 

Barbara Lee’s leaning heavily on the table by the time they sit down, blue-eyes red rimmed and glassy. Oswald winces against the stack of crumpled paper napkins at her elbow. He pats down his pockets before finally handing her his own silk pocket square -- a deep violet, monogrammed with his initials.

“Thank you,” she says, accepting the handkerchief and dabbing her eyes. 

“You can keep it. At this age, I’ve accumulated quite a collection.”

"You didn't ask her what happened," Barbara says, once they’ve got their lattes and sandwiches and Enigma has her oatmeal. The handkerchief is soaked now, clutched in a tiny fist. 

"I didn't need to. I trust that I can get an honest answer from you," Oswald replies. "Why did you call me?"

"Mom's working. Dad's... off doing  _ god knows what. _ I don't feel like a lecture from Lee and I figured  _ you  _ would at least believe it wasn't my fault."

"You mean I wouldn't care if you started it."

"Duela Dent started it!" she shouts, abruptly aware of how many people have turned to stare at the outburst. Oswald smiles congenially. 

"I'll rephrase that: you mean I wouldn't care if you landed the first blow."

She doesn't meet his eyes.

"And you're right. I believe you.” He distracts himself by testing the temperature of the oatmeal, finally cool enough for his daughter’s tender mouth. “You are one of the smartest people I know and you have a sense of fairness verging on irksome. If you rammed your forehead into that girl's teeth, I have no doubt she did something to deserve it."

"She has... problems."

"I'm sure she does,” he says, unwrapping the disposable spoon. He smiles as Enigma claps her hand against the high chair in recognition “As I do. As you do. The difference is we don't expect other people to pay for it."

“She doesn’t either. Not really. It’s… not that deep.”

Oswald smiles, feeding Enigma a spoonful of oatmeal. Relieved when most of it makes it into her mouth and not on the lavender and seafoam bib she’s wearing.

“Maybe not. Whatever conscious intents you have or don’t have, you still have to say you’re sorry. You’re still responsible for your actions and their consequences for other people.”

He and Ed have given Barbara Lee the same speech they gave Martin when he was younger, the same one they’ll give Enigma when she’s old enough: they’re not the best at being self-aware and they were never particularly good at spotting mental illness or dark forces in themselves... but they care. They have learned to do their best, to ask for what other people need, and to ask for what they need. On a good day, they can accomplish two out of three.

Barbara says nothing, quietly processing as she sips her iced latte and chews her grilled cheese. After a short while, he wordlessly hands the spoon to his young friend, watching her finish feeding a delighted Enigma, who succeeds in making Babsy laugh once by grabbing and dropping the spoon on the floor for her to retrieve.

“Are we all set?”

Wide blue eyes stare at him, almost startled.

“I don’t... really want to go home,” she says, tentatively.

And Mr. Grayson, Oswald supposes, is already grounded at Wayne Manor for the foreseeable future (or not, depending on the capricious whims of his guardian). 

“Your mother already told me you could stay with us for the night. I suspect she’ll make similar negotiations with your father and Dr. Thompkins. Finish your latte.”

\--

Dinner for the night is roast chicken with noodles, something easily left warming in a slow cooker for Edward. He feeds Enigma bite-sized pieces of chicken, strained carrots and peaches and Barbara talks him into making microwave popcorn. They watch  _ Sullivan’s Travels _ (Oswald’s pick) followed by  _ Hackers _ (Barbara’s) while in the sitting room while Enigma plays on the rug. The languor (combined with crashing adrenalin) is enough to lull Oswald into a deep sleep on the chaise lounge. 

When he wakes up, Barbara Lee has vacated her spot on the sofa and the lights have been dimmed, substituted by the now lit fireplace. As he blinks awake, he sees the silhouette of Edward holding their daughter, singing to her softly. 

“I light another candle… Wipe the tears from my face…”

Oswald smiles.

Ed’s hair is growing out, nearly to the length he sported in the first few months of No Man’s Land. It suits him, particularly with the addition of the longer tailcoat and higher-heeled boots; long fringe of auburn hair curling around his ears and under the brim of his bowler hat. He’s discarded the hat and cane as he murmurs soft words against the crown of their baby’s head. Despite Oswald's efforts to be a quiet audience, the dark figure turns toward him in the dark.

“Don’t stop on my account,” he says.

“I didn’t want to wake you.”

“It was a nice way to wake up,” Oswald replies, reassuring him. “Babsy’s staying the night.”

“Yeah, I ran into her on the stairs. Is everything okay?”

“It will be,” he replies. “A little scrape with a certain disbarred prosecutor’s demon spawn, co-starring the last of the Flying Graysons. No one is immune to teenage angst, apparently.”

“I certainly wasn’t,” Ed shrugs, moving to sit at the end of the chaise. “I just experienced it a decade later than everyone else.”

“Same,” he smiles, sitting up. “How are you?”

“Satisfactory. I left Nina and Deidre wrapping up some stuff. We had 50 percent less company than we were expecting tonight,” he whispers, vaguely. As though he’s hyper aware of their civilian guest, even on the second floor. “All is well.”

“Good,” he says, moving in to lean his chin on his husband’s shoulder. “I missed you. Do try to wrap up the next...  _ project _ a little earlier next time?”

“I missed you, too. Like  _ crazy _ . I’ll try to be prompt, certain... outside forces permitting.”

“I’d kiss you, but I might actually be too tired.”

“It’s okay,” Ed replies, lips against his brow. “We should get her upstairs anyway. If her normal sleep hours keep, feeding time will be in another two hours.”   
  
Oswald nods, repressing a yawn against Ed’s shoulder. 

“Lead the way, my love.”

**Author's Note:**

> Fun fact: "50 percent less company" -- Dick was injured in the scrape with Duela; can't go rappeling with Batman to help stall Riddler's shenanigans.


End file.
